


baby hit me one more time (please don't)

by saunatonttu



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dirty Jokes, M/M, Sports, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7430985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/pseuds/saunatonttu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sports, Francis mused to himself as he eyed his boyfriend beside him, was truly the greatest cockblock of all time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby hit me one more time (please don't)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is silly and not even funny.

Sports, Francis mused to himself as he eyed his boyfriend beside him, was truly the greatest cockblock of all time.

Arthur’s eyes were glued to the unfolding events on the television screen. Television which, in Francis’s humble opinion, looked like it had come straight from the fifties. Count on Arthur to have even antique television in these modern times. Even the couch, if the hard cushions were anything to go by, was from similar era, so there was very little comfort to be found.

Francis sighed, theatrically.

Arthur shushed him, irritably.

“Please, Rutherford won already yesterday,” Francis drawled. “What else do you need to watch these championships for, Arthur?”

“Literally _everything else_ ,” Arthur replied, much less irritated now that he saw one of his athletes step into the camera’s view. Thick eyebrows knit together in concentration, Arthur looked absolutely ridiculously content, if not also tense to the point where Francis wondered if some of the athletes were British in disguise. That would explain Arthur’s behaviour, he supposed. Except not, because if everyone were secretly British, there would be absolutely no tension and Arthur would be cackling by now.

“For example?” Francis couldn’t hide his boredom entirely. After Vicaut’s sure victory had turned into a disappointing bronze, he had stopped caring and focused more on the football aspect of sports.

“Men’s pole vault, for one,” Arthur sighed, the somewhat dreamy look on his face visible even from the side profile. “My favourite Frenchman is an absolute favourite to win it, of course, but—”

Ah, right. Lavillenie. Francis was looking forward to his performance, too, what with Renaud being such an excellent athlete.

…Wait—

“Your _favourite_ Frenchman?” Francis gasped, his hand grasping at his chest as if he had been mortally wounded. He might as well have been, if you asked him. “I thought _I_ was your favourite, Arthur.”

This time Arthur looked at him, green eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips curled up into an annoyingly smug smile. Annoying, but also very attractive when one didn’t look at those brows. “Shows how much you know about me, huh, Francis?”

“Is it the fact that he does pole vault?” Francis asked, mouth twisting into a pout that had looked far more endearing when he and Arthur had been children and teenagers. “I’ll pole vault into your trousers, if I must.”

Arthur’s violent choking sound made the awful wordplay worth it, and it was Francis’s turn to smirk like the infamous Cheshire cat.

“Don’t say things like that with your awful accent, oh fuck,” Arthur wheezed, hiding his face into one of his palms, desperately trying to hide his smile from Francis. To no avail, fortunately, because Francis could hear the begrudging amusement from Arthur’s laughter.

“You adore it, really,” Francis teased, sneaking a hand over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur didn’t mind, it seemed, and he leaned the slightest bit against him. Arthur’s attention was still shared between the telly and Francis, though the scales was starting to tip in Francis’s favour. “It gets you, ah, hot and bothered, _oui_?”

“It does _not_ ,” Arthur chortled into his hand.

“How very convincing, _mon cher_ ,” Francis teased, leaning to whisper into Arthur’s ear, “Should I long jump into your—”

“Do _not_ finish that sentence!” Arthur howled, pushing his shoulder against Francis’s rather violently but it did absolutely nothing to stop Francis from laughing so hard that tears sprung to his eyes. Oh, how fun it was to rile Arthur up like this even after all these centuries! Some things truly never got old, and some even aged like finest French white wines.

“Oh, I do love that face you’re making,” Francis wheezed as he gathered himself, wiping at his eyes while grinning like a madman. He had gone mad a long time ago, falling for Arthur. But love was like that sometimes, madness presented in a pretty disguise.

Ah, but that was unfortunately close to Arthur’s view on the matters of love, so Francis ought to check his definitions. If only for the sake of opposing Arthur.

“Git,” Arthur muttered, face free from the hand he had used to cover it previously. An unimpressed gaze met an immovable grin. “Stop smirking like that, Francis. It’s unbecoming.”

Francis’ grin widened as Arthur’s eyes flashed with horrific realization. “Francis Bonnefoy, if you’re going to make that godawful pun, I _will_ break up with you, this I swear-”

“I wasn’t thinking about any puns,” Francis sniggered, leaning over to press a lingering kiss on Arthur’s tight-lipped mouth. The French might not be known for their success in physical warfare, but verbal wars were another thing completely. “I was thinking about how you will be coming later—”

Arthur shoved a cushion on Francis’s face, letting out an offended sound that only made Francis laugh harder.

“Francis, you’re being an absolute _monster_ ,” Arthur complained, keeping the cushion over Francis’s face for a few moments longer. Francis’s mumbled response was lost into the hard fabric. “I can’t _believe you._ ”

Had he been America, Francis might have quipped a snarky _believe it_ here, but thank the heavens he was not Alfred Jones.

Once he got the cushion wrestled off from his beautiful face, Francis snorted and winked at Arthur, who looked even more miffed than usual. In a good way. His eyebrows were still relatively relaxed, so there was no immediate threat of their relationship ending prematurely.

“Feel free to play with words with your sexy accent right back at me, Arthur,” Francis said, voice low and eyes half-lidded as he regarded the changes occurring on Arthur’s face. If there was anything honest about Arthur, it was his face, always twisting and turning according to his emotions. Recently, it had been captivating to watch as Arthur’s face had been glowing with excitement for the athletics championships taking place in Amsterdam. It was also unfortunate for Francis, who had been hoping for some alone time with Arthur, but now had to share the man with sports.

Truly the biggest cockblock in the world.

“So now I’m sexy?” Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him. Francis was _still_ mildly horrified by how much the movement made the brows look like living caterpillars. Full offence to the eyebrows, but, well, at least Arthur had some redeeming qualities.

“Your accent, at least,” Francis pouted. “Your dedication to sports as of late has been a bit off-putting.”

“As if you’re not going bonkers over football right now yourself,” Arthur snorted, squinting his eyes at Francis as if he was considering something. Francis waited patiently to see what Arthur would do, but he wouldn’t back off from the banter.

“You would be too if you actually made it to the final match, no?” Francis eyed Arthur more carefully now. This might still be a sore subject for the Englishman, whose lips very predictably pursed at the comment.

But then, more unexpectedly, Arthur’s face relaxed and he leaned into Francis’s space.

“Well, yes,” Arthur admitted, his posh accent faltering a bit as an embarrassed admission came out, “I was quite looking forward to a match between us, as well.”

Arthur pressed a chaste kiss to Francis’s lips then, his hand reaching out to sweep back some of Francis’s stray strands of hair. The touch lingered, gentler than expected, and Francis melted a little bit. Just a bit. He would not admit that, though.

“But, also,” Arthur added after breaking the kiss, lips hovering near Francis’s still, “I love you…”

Francis’s heart skipped a beat. What a fickle thing it was, although not quite as fickle as Arthur’s romantic side.

“…r athletes.”

Francis’s heart _was crushed_.

Arthur’s face broke into a grin that looked like it had to hurt his cheeks. “The face you’re making, my goodness—”

“You’re a cruel mistress, Arthur,” Francis whined, holding Arthur’s hand in place as it still was on Francis’s face. “How unfortunate is it that my love is so one-sided…”

Arthur rolled his eyes, the green irises glinting. “Perhaps it is the puns that killed my love. Perhaps it was the last pole in the hole— oh, fuck, no, ignore that—”

“Arthur, my love, how do you expect me to keep a straight face when _you make an innuendo like that_ —”

“Stop laughing, idiot!” Arthur’s face was quite red from both embarrassment and irritation, and Francis adored it. This particular look had always suited Arthur so well, especially since colour showed on his face so easily.

“How about we add the _last pole in the hole,_ hm?”

“Fuck you— I hate you so much—” Arthur spluttered, face turning redder as Francis brought Arthur’s fingers to his lips, kissing them while looking at Arthur’s flustered expression.

“I love you…” Francis began, and Arthur’s lips quivered as he suppressed a reluctant smile. “…r eyebrows.”

And so Francis slept on the couch that night, having cockblocked himself quite efficiently.

**Author's Note:**

> Later comfort sex happened over what happened with Lavillenie. 
> 
> I know there was sports and name dropping so... sorry? Rutherford won the European championship in long jump, and Lavillenie is this rly good French pole vaulter. Vicaut was the biggest French hope in 100 meters, but alas. :'D Third place instead of gold... 
> 
> (Speaking of which, MY heart is broken for Renaud. Not as much as in the world championships last year-ish, but y'know. Sad regardless.)


End file.
